Myths Retold
by Jazba
Summary: History is always written by those who win. But, what about those who loose, those who cannot bear to speak of what they have experienced or seen? What of their stories? A series of oneshots where myths are unravelled and the voices you least expect to hear from tell their tale and set the facts straight.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Greek Myths, they were created a long time ago by someone who was much better at telling stories than I am or ever will be.**

 **I have an unhealthy love for the Goddess Eris and decided to try and write this.**

 **These are short oneshots of my retelling of numerous Greek Myths that will all connect eventually but will be able to be read in any order. The first myth being retold is The Judgement of Paris. I don't usually write in first person, but I wanted to give it a shot.**

 **For those who don't know, The Judgement of Paris is the myth behind why Paris stole Helen leading to the downfall of Troy. This retelling will focus on the character Eris; the Goddess of Chaos, Strife and Discord, who instigated the entire event according to myths.** **Though in the actual myth Eris was never there for all the proceedings, the apple came from the Garden of Hesperides and she was never invited to the wedding. If you do not like these changes I apologise. Criticism is always welcome.**

* * *

Tales of Troy: The Judgement of Paris

* * *

' _So, after all, there was not one kind of Strife alone, but all over the earth there are two. As for the one, a man would praise her when he came to understand her; but the other is blameworthy: and they are wholly different in nature. For one fosters evil war and battle, being cruel: her no man loves; but perforce, through the will of the deathless gods, men pay harsh Strife her honour due._

 _But the other, set her in the roots of the earth: and she is far kinder to men. She stirs up even the shiftless to toil; for a man grows eager to work when he considers his neighbour, a rich man who hastens to plough and plant and put his house in good order; and neighbour vies with his neighbour as he hurries after wealth. This Strife is wholesome for men. And potter is angry with potter, and craftsman with craftsman and beggar is jealous of beggar, and minstrel of minstrel.'_ –Hesoid

* * *

Bodies litter the ground like flowers in a field, blood pooling around them, staining the ground a dark rust colour. The smell of burning flesh fills my nostrils and I harshly kick a charred carcass of a mortal. How dare it be in the way of one such as myself?

What I see before me is utter perfection.

Rubble is scattered across the once beautiful streets, the buildings alight with fire and blood is smeared upon nearly every surface. While the few remaining fighters continue a losing battle as the sun begins to rise, finally allowing for me take in the carnage that is my doing.

What excellence!

What talent!

Oh, to create such a work of art. I openly preen and congratulate myself, bowing to my imaginary audience. Troy has fallen and I am more than happy to take full credit.

Weaving through the unbeknownst warriors I watch them, their pace slowed down so that it appears they are moving under water. Silently I place myself between two men fighting viciously. I can see the sweat dripping from their brows, the exertion clear on their faces, their mouths contorted into harsh grimaces. They are so similar yet they fight with such intense hate.

This is what war is. This is what downright pleasure feels like. Sensually I run my fingers from one of the warrior's shoulders up to his hand. Then, ever so slightly, I push his hand to the left allowing for his defensive guard to become open.

Humorously the corners of my mouth turn upwards revealing pearly white teeth as triumph fills me and a laughter bubbles in my throat. It is hilarious to orchestrate the death of something. The man fighting the one I moved runs his blade through him, as a woman would pierce her needle through her stitching. The brutally burnt ground is coated in a lavish blanket made of the finest substances, organs and blood.

Oh how I revel in it. The majesty that I have created, the discord, the strife, the utter chaos!

For the next few hours the fires die and finally the ravaged waste that was once Troy lies in silence. No man or boy moves, not a breath can be heard as the Spartan soldiers evacuate the city, leaving behind only ruins. Gleefully I wave to them, shouting thanks at their turned backs.

Upon closer inspection I spy a body slung over a soldier's shoulder; head raised and mouth agape, tears streaking down soot covered cheeks. Helen. The once beautiful and proud woman now looks akin to a china doll that has been brutally broken. The sight of such defeat near sends me into an oblivion of ecstasy.

Narrowing my eyes I spy some of the women and young girls who have survived the fall of Troy. They crowd together on a hill watching their fallen, ruined city with eyes void of any emotion except utter despair. For some reason resentment and annoyance jolts violently through my veins as I look upon them.

They are hope. They are survivors. I do not like survivors. So with a wicked grin I raise a dainty elegant hand and point toward one of the Generals in the Spartan army. I weave my way into the mans thoughts and persuade him with little difficulty that the women left must not be spared. The women kneeling on the hill will be taken back by the Spartans as slaves and whores, they will rue the day they believed they had even a sliver of hope before me. Shrilly I laugh as some of the soldiers go off to collect their prizes.

Turning back to Troy I take in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the enchanting scent that now rolls off the city in waves. Desolation reeks throughout the air mixing with sweat, blood, tears, smoke and sorrow. It is like someone has wafted my favourite drug right under my nose and then revealed that I am able to not only smell it, but eat, drink and immerse myself in it as well. This day could not get better.

Dancing throughout the ruins, darting in and out of the burnt skeletons of houses and buildings I laugh and shriek with undeniable elation. Everything has gone perfectly to plan and a loud squeal, like that of a spoilt child getting a gift they have wanted, erupts from me. I can hardly contain myself.

Through the broken shards of glass in a house I see a reflection of myself. Scandalous ash black-feathered wings stretch out behind me, each fourteen foot in length. From there I take in my pale complexion, the sharp amethyst purple eyes heavily rimmed with black kohl and long straight inky black hair that flows down to my ankles. A pure white chiton that cuts off around my mid thigh frames my figure and a golden laurel wreath adorns my head.

I am a Goddess beyond compare in my eyes and I preen, running my finger through my hair and pouting. Though I am not the most lust inducing like Aphrodite, nor stunningly beautiful like Hera I know that I have the ability to incite desire in many a man and some women.

With the blowing of a kiss and a wink towards my reflection I dance off into the ruins. Jumping onto a dead carcass I squish my toes into the flesh and blood like a child would mud, giggles erupting from me. The feeling of death surrounds me. Yet it is during my ritual dance of elation that I stumble over something, falling onto the ground. Bracing myself with my hands I snarl in humiliation, a blush blossoming across my cheeks. Still on my hands and knees I turn to glare ferociously at what has dared cause me, a Goddess to fall onto the ground.

A beautiful face stares up at me, eyes closed gently appearing in sleep. Blonde hair matted with blood and dirt hangs in tangles around the mans shoulders and I draw in a sharp breath as I recognise the man I have tripped over.

With the grace of a cat I slink over to the body, straddling it and looking down at corpse before me. A shiver runs down my spine and for a moment I regret ruining the lives of mortals, for bringing such destruction. Leaning close enough that my hair tickles his cheeks I lightly brush my lips to his.

Then, as if someone has sent one of Zeus's lightning bolts through my heart I jerk back away from the man. The mans eye have flickered open while I was kissing him and they stare up at me, a clear sky blue that reminds me of happier times.

Paris.

"You. Who are you?" Paris's voice comes out in a whispered gurgle and I titter lightly, partially insulted, partially delighted at the chance to inform a human of the honour they have received by being in my presence.

"Why I am the person who created all of this," I tell him gesturing wildly with my arms, "I am Eris, the Goddess of Discord. You should be honoured to be in my presence human."

Paris's face contorts, lips pulling back into a harsh snarl, eyes sharpening as every muscle in his body tenses underneath me. Then with the ferocity of a lion his arms reach up, hands wrapping around my throat. A part of me wishes that his hands were wrapping around my thighs under my skirt. I struggle against him as air stops filling my lungs.

I did not expect this of him. I thought he was too weak.

I was wrong.

Forcing myself to relax I remind my body that though my lungs are not filled with air there is no need for them to be, that air is just a simple inconvenience. Tears burn in my eyes and my chest feels as if someone has poured scalding hot oil upon it.

"Stop." I choke out, unable to hardly think anymore.

Though I will not die my body can still sustain injuries and feel pain. I feel him pull me forward, closer to him, so close that I can feel his breath. Maybe, if I am lucky, when I close my eyes the pain will be gone and instead his lips will be upon mine taking the air from my lungs as a lover would. My throat burns and I spasm against Paris's torso, my thighs clenching around him. I have no such luck.

I hate pain.

Unexpectedly his hands loosen and I gulp in lungful's of fresh air. The substance is heavenly to me and for a moment I forget everything and give myself wholly over to the feeling of being able to breath. Air is sucked deeply into my throat, coursing down my windpipe and inflating my lungs. Oh how thankful I am for the sweet succulent air.

I lean against his body and my nose brushes against his shoulder blades which have become uncovered somehow during the fight. I'd like to believe, in my own sick twisted mind that the bruises that mark him were made by me, that the cuts that riddle his body are my name now carved into his skin.

A groan so mournful and animal like pierces the silence around me. I turn my gaze to Paris and astonishment flitters across my face. Paris is crying, tears stream down his face in rivulets and loud hard sobs wrack his frame beneath me. This man who has lost everything no longer has the will to bring harm to me, the person who created the pain he is now cursed to feel.

Warily I climb off of him, not willing to risk another attack. Not willing to risk running my hands up his shoulders, entwining my fingers through his hair, biting his cheekbones and kissing his lips hard enough to break bones.

I love giving pain but I hate feeling it.

I don't know what makes me want to tell him, to justify myself and my reasoning for creating what is engrained into my very being, my very sense of self. But, I want to give him the truth if nothing else.

"I am going to tell you a story Paris," I begin, lowering my body down next to his so that my mouth can whisper horrid truths in his ear, "I am going to tell you why this all began."

* * *

A grimace plays at the corner of my mouth threatening to become full blown. For the first time that I can count I had been invited to a wedding. It is something I had never thought possible.

The happy couple: Peleus and Thetis spin happily in a circle, laughing gaily. Nymphs, Dryads and numerous other Gods and Goddesses twisting throughout the throng of dancing bodies, ear splitting grins and seductive smiles plastered to the countless guests faces. Yet I stood hunched over in a corner where the shadows were thickest, trying my hardest to disappear.

I despise gatherings like this, I truly do. Weddings are where the biggest lies in history are made. Fickle promises of love that meant nothing whatsoever. I know for sure when the first fight between the couple occurs I will be there, hidden, provoking each one of them. I will be there when he commits adultery urging him on. I will be there through every chaotic and hateful act that occurs in their relationship. Which is why I am at such a loss as to why they would invite me. Do they wish to end their marriage already?

With a huff I retract myself from the wall and manoeuvre through the guests towards the food table, hunger overriding my hate for crowds. Even though Gods do not need to eat we are still cursed with hunger and an undying love of food.

Lying innocently upon a large white platter is a small bunch of bright green grapes. Glancing around I notice they are the last ones and triumphantly reach for them. Suddenly a milk white hand darts forward, before my own, enclosing around the bunch. Turning quickly I grad the offending appendage and glare towards its owner.

Luscious long blonde locks cascade down to her hips in perfect curls, light pink eyes that resemble the beginnings of a sunrise, full perfectly shaped lips that have a natural red pigmentation and an hourglass figure. She is a beauty beyond compare and already my first want is to rip out the hair from her pretty little head. Perhaps I could scalp her and wear her hair for a wig.

"Those are mine." I spit out, my teeth clenched together and lips pulled back in a snarl.  
In response to my statement she bats her eyes innocently and her hand reaches down to play with the hem of her incriminatingly short peplos.

My blood begins to boil at her reaction. Does she have any idea as to whom she is dealing with? I want to kill her in that instant for her insolence, for the simple way she believes that everyone will do whatever she pleases because of her unnatural beauty.

All I can see in my mind is my hand reaching up and taking hold of her head and then repeatedly smashing it against a white marble pillar, her skull crunching and cracking under such a blunt force. Her blood would splash upon it and drip down from it, giving colour to the pale surface. Her screams would fill the room becoming my favourite music and I would dig my nails into the thin layer of skin surrounding her skull until I could feel bone. Her brains would bespatter upon the pillar and ground, a garish grey cauliflower like substance. Then I would dance upon her corpse and she would know that I was in charge, that I was in control and that I was the one that had won.

"Oh silly Eris," she tittered her eyes gleaming like the vindictive bitch that she was, "I put my hands upon them first, thus they are mine. Besides they're the last bunch left and I hate apples, they just don't sit well with me."

My want to murder her and see her writhe in pain increases ten-fold. With a feral snarl I open my mouth with the intent to tell her what I think about her stealing my grapes when she turns on her heel and prances off. Her graceful, gliding walk leaving me green with envy. Shrilly I yowl, like a cat with it's tail stepped upon. I will make her regret her flippancy, her simple disregard and her rudeness towards me.

Turning back towards the food table I notice a pile of lush green apples stacked upwards in a pyramid shape, they gleam like bright gems. With ease I pluck one from the bottom allowing for the others to roll off the table and onto the floor in a clutter. With a wicked gleam in my eye I slowly raise the apple up to my lips and kiss it.

Aphrodite will never know what hit her.

Like a rash spreading from my lips, green turns to gold and within seconds the entire apple has become gold. Then with precision I place my fingernail against the apple and write in elegant cursive _'To The Fairest'_. It is my finest creation yet. She won't be able to resist it.

Striding towards the room with a slight skip to my step I come to a halt in front of the dance floor. Aphrodite spins wildly around in circles with both Athena and Hera close, it is too good an opportunity to pass up.

Athena with her shortly cropped light brown hair, still adorned with a golden helmet, chest armour and bracers. She seems to have as little love for this party as me, her grey eyes flashing with annoyance as Poseidon once again attempts to ask her to dance. Many believe that they hate each other, but I know hate and there is no hate to be found between them, only sadness, anger, regret and unrestrained desire, the perfect recipe for a disastrous relationship.

My eyes are drawn suddenly to Hera in all her Queenly glory. Large purple eyes, that unlike mine are a lighter shade, luscious pink lips that curve into a playful smile, pink cheeks that are flushed from dancing and long wavy brown hazelnut coloured hair that is pulled into an elaborate up do that appears to be about to become undone. Within seconds of me entering the room of dancers I find them parting for me, like the terrified maggots that they are.

Coming to a standstill I cock my hip to the side a vicious smirk adorning my features, cat like eyes twinkling with satisfaction. Holding out my hand I allow for everyone to view the golden apple and then let it roll slowly out of my hands. The entire room is silent except for the rhythmic thump of the apple rolling on the ground towards the three goddesses.

"To the fairest of them all" I say dropping into a curtsey as chaos erupts.

Three sets of hands each reach for the apple, slanders are screeched, hair is wrenched from its roots and nails rake across skin. It is a blood bath. Hera, Athena and Aphrodite each attempt to gain the apple while killing each other in the process. Terrified guests scramble out of the way and I survey my work with pride. All three of them are so easily manipulated it feels akin to taking sweets from a human baby.

Their scuffle continues and soon I can no longer contain my glee. Bending over I hold one hand to my stomach as it shudders violently with laughter. Clenching my other hand into a fist I shove it into my mouth, attempting to stifle the guttural laughter emitting from my mouth.

"Enough!"

A booming voice cuts through the hysteria. Everyone stops, some cowering and the three offending goddesses forget the apple for a moment, releasing each other and glancing up towards the speaker. My attention was quickly diverted towards the man. He, like many of the Gods, was beautiful. With blonde hair, stormy grey eyes and a tall muscular figure. Zeus. The so-called 'King' of the Gods, the ruler of the skies and thunder, a pig headed narcissistic man.

"Have you three not embarrassed yourselves enough?"

He questions them viciously before he turns his gaze towards me, savagely boring into my skull. If one could send someone to Tartarus with a simple glare I am sure I would be there within a heartbeat. Obviously he is not happy with my choice of revenge. Perhaps he will send me to the naughty corner.

Oh well. I serve no one except myself. The other gods know this, they understand how volatile I am, how chaotic my emotions and reactions can be.

Hera steps forward facing her husband, though her eyes never leave the apple on the floor, a look of utter yearning contorting her features. "My lord husband, I beg of you to tell us which one of us three women before you is the fairest. You are the King of the Gods, the only one fit to judge who this title rightfully belongs to."

Her voice is smooth like honey, veiling the promise of death that is sure to follow if he does not name her the fairest. Laughter threatens to escape from between my clenched teeth, it is obvious to all that if Zeus does not name Hera as the fairest he will not only loose his wife, but his manhood, life and throne as well. Oh well. I always did prefer matriarchal societies and Hera was no pushover. Sadly my dream of Zeus screaming in everlasting agony as his manhood is removed is quickly dashed. Zeus may be an egotistical swine but he isn't stupid.

"My dearest wife, you are the Queen not only of our people, but of my heart as well. It would be unfair if I were to judge such a…competition"

Congratulations were in order. It appeared Zeus was going to live another day due to his charming words. Though as to whom he was going to pass the burden of choosing the 'fairest' to, was the question. A tirade of angry voices erupted from the three women, all giving forth ideas as to who the judge should be, while claiming that the judges propositioned by the other two were not neutral parties. It appeared that Zeus had thought of everything though, as he cleared his throat silencing the room.

"I shall send my son, Ares, to find an honest judge to settle this dispute." Zeus announced to the hall.

Truly I could not be more joyous. A sly, fox like smirk found its way onto my features as I very nearly lost any semblance of control. Ares, the God of War, I both feared him and admired him. I could see it now, gods pitted against each other, changing and manipulating events to suit their favoured ones. I was drawn sharply from my reverie as Zeus instructed Ares to go out and find a true and sincere judge.

Turning quickly I began to stride towards the exit as the many gods and goddesses began to disperse only to feel a steely grip surround my upper arm pulling my sideways into a corridor. Hissing between my teeth I spun towards the owner of the offending hand, eyes wide with fury and anger.

Blood red eyes, like rubies bore into my very soul and I tugged against his hold on my arm. With a strong jaw, rippling muscles and dark brown hair that held a waviness similar to Hera, his mother, the man holding me captive was a head turner. Ares.

As the god of war the two of us went hand in hand. I orchestrated the strife, discord and chaos while he created the war, thriving upon it, appearing on every battlefield. He was also my part time lover and partner in crime. A minor detail truly.

"I must thank you dearest Eris, for I can already smell the fires and blood of war. I cannot wait to work beside you once again," Ares murmured in my ear, his voice sending tremors up my spine as he leaned in close to me. "You should come to my chambers soon to discuss any issues you have or if you are in need any aid or clarification. "

My mouth curves into a gentle smile and I lean forwards, my mouth ghosting over his ear lobe before biting down. I continue to bite on his flesh until my teeth meet and blood trickles into my mouth. The sweet coppery taste satisfying a primal urge deep within me. I smirk when he finally releases his grip upon my arm with a growl of indignation.

"Don't start games you can't finish Ares. I have work to be done and no time to pay you a visit of any kind. Perhaps after my work is done we can revel in the chaos of war together. Be ready to nurse poor Aphrodite's broken pride and heart back to health for she'll be coming crying to you soon enough." A husk entering my voice as I pull away from him and begin sauntering down the hall on my way to wreck more chaos and disorder.

* * *

Leaves tickled my cheeks as I peer down between the branches of a tree, watching the young shepherd boy who was soon to become a pawn in my game. He has an innocence about him that not many humans have. With blonde hair, tanned skin and rippling muscles he is what many would call beautiful.

Paris, or Alexander as the herdsmen called him, was the son of Priam and Hecuba, the King and Queen of Troy, who had been left on Mount Ida when is was prophesised that he would bring about the downfall of Troy. Among his siblings were the warriors Hector and Deiphobus, the handsome Troilus and the twins, Helenus and Cassandra.

They had been warned that the boy would bring around the fall of Troy, that if he lived he would bring nothing to the royal family but death and destruction not only for them but for their people. Of course the royals never listen, they believe themselves Gods among humans, above mere 'prophecies'. Perhaps future events would soon give them a change of mind.

Curiously I lean forward, drinking in the sight of Paris. He is kind, so very kind to all around him. A part of me naively wants to believe that he is perfection, but I know that within everyone there is a twisted side waiting to rear its' ugly head.

The bark of the tree digs into my bare skin roughly, as the skirt of my chiton rides up revealing milky white thighs. I bit back a grumble of annoyance as the course wood once again scraps harshly against my thighs as I climbed higher in the hope of finding a better vantage point.

From what I have discovered there are two joys within Paris's life. The first being his lovely mountain nymph wife, Oenone, who is a skilled healer. The two of them are a happy couple, so happy that I can already feel the bile climbing in my throat. He is what any woman would desire for a husband, he is doting, adoring and does not stray from his marriage bed. A part of me wonders what it would take to make his heart stray. Whether I might be enough to make his heart stray just a little.

His second great joy in life I find, is bull fighting. According to the townspeople his prized beast could beat any rival. That is, until Ares chose to appear before him disguised as a bull.

Dust soon fills the arena and the roar of bulls fill my ears. Paris is a noble and honourable man and when Ares wins, he ungrudgingly and without a moments thought places the victors garland on his head.

A part of me wants to hiss angrily when Ares reveals himself, startling the boy into falling back onto his rump. Yet, another part of me wishes to giggle uncontrollably like some air-brained child of Aphrodite when he releases a string of violent curses before apologising hastily. No mortal should ever let their tongue get away with them in the presence of a God, even a mortal as pretty as Paris.

With only a quick smirk directed towards the tree that I am within Ares disappears, informing Paris that another god would soon arrive with the three goddesses for him to judge.

Paris acts as any intelligent mortal should when being informed he shall choose which Goddess is the fairest, he attempts to politely decline, practically begging Hermes that he is not 'worthy' of the 'honour'. Rubbing my lips together I hum appreciatively at the intellect shown by the boy.

Hope jumps wildly in my chest. Hope that he will live through the discord I am about to create, but I stifle it as quickly as it appears. It would be quite hilarious if the boy refuses to judge the competition and the 'honour' falls to Zeus once more, if that happens Zeus may escape with his life but not his manhood.

Unfortunately, Hermes persuades the boy to accept judging the competition and ruins my gleeful thoughts at Zeus's peril. Oh well, strife will be caused either way, I will soon have the entirety of Olympus split in two with the madness that I create.

With a sharp golden light being my only warning, the three warring Goddesses appear in their splendour. Clenching the branch I am laying on closer I attempt to become one with the tree, refusing to be seen and have my game ruined. Athena, though definitely more beautiful than any mortal woman, does not even hold a candle to the beauties that are Aphrodite and Hera.

Athena is a warrior, with toned limbs and intelligent eyes, while Aphrodite is a seductress with curves that poets write about. But, it is Hera, whom I can tell Paris notices immediately. With her heavenly figure and aristocratic facial structure she is beyond that of the pretty Athena or the alluring Aphrodite, she is the epitome of beauty.

I instantly love the utter desperation that appears on Aphrodite's face as she too notices this. Her face contorts for mere milliseconds into that of a wild beast, lips curled back to reveal teeth and eyes narrowed into slits, she is not happy at being ignored. Yet, just as the expression appears it is gone.

Paris is a cheeky judge and a chuckle nearly escapes my lips as he asks that the Goddesses in question remove their garbs so that he may see them for whom they truly are. It is obvious to everyone present that he will pick Hera and she knows it as her lips curve into a victorious smile. Suddenly, the tension in the air seems to shift as Athena, in all her wisdom, steps forward towards Paris.

"If you name me as the fairest, I will bless you with wisdom and skill in the arts of war. You will be second only to myself in intelligence and win all battles that you enter into."

Athena's words ring loud and true and my mouth falls slightly agape at her words. What she has just offered is more than any mortal could ever hope to have and by the look on Paris's face he knows this. Intelligence second only to Athena in itself is a sort after blessing that none has yet to be given, but to be gifted in addition to the ability to win all battles that he will enter would make him invincible. This is truly an interesting ploy on Athena's behalf and I pout at the thought of Paris choosing Athena. If he chooses her there will be war but hardly any chaos. The winner will have already been chosen; there will be no nail biting, lip worrying experiences. It will be a bore, the war that will be over before it has even started.

With narrowed eyes Hera steps forward, pushing Athena back slightly in an attempt to once again gain Paris's attention, which is truly not that hard of a feat for the Queen of the Gods.

"If you name me as the fairest of them all I will give you the Europe and Asia. You shall be King of all mortals and none shall contest you or those of your line."

A low whistle escapes my pursed lips at Hera's offer. Gods and Goddesses Hera plays dirty. She has offered what none of the others can give. She has offered complete and utter power over all other mortals and not only that but promised that his children shall rule after him. It is an offer that Paris cannot refuse and Aphrodite knows this if the furious look in her eyes is anything to go by.

Aphrodite's fury alone gives me no greater pleasure and I know that even though there would be little to no chaos if Paris chooses either Athena or Hera I will be happy with the outcome as Aphrodite will be screaming with rage on the inside. I nearly fall out of the tree that I am within out of sheer happiness at the hilarity of the situation. Aphrodite will loose and not only will it be her pride that will be injured but her reputation. The Goddess of Love and Beauty was not the Fairest of the all. She would be the laughing stock of Olympus and she knows this.

Too quickly for my liking a sly smile finds its way onto Aphrodite's face, causing mine to contort into one of utter annoyance. Gliding forward as if she is an exotic dancer, swaying her hips, she walks forward and places her hand on Paris's shoulder. The other two Goddesses bristle with anger at her actions, trembling with untold fury.

"Dearest Paris," Aphrodite whispers sultrily, "if you name me, Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love and Beauty the Fairest of them all, I will give you the most beautiful woman to walk this earth to you as your wife. I will give you Helen, the Queen of Laconia and the daughter of Zeus and Leda as your wife, she will do everything that you wish, never question your words and will fulfil your every desire."

Her words were like honey, sweet and utterly sickly. Within mere seconds I can see that all of Paris's thoughts of his beautiful nymph wife disappear. All his dreams of being heralded as the most intelligent and powerful warrior known to man vanish. All his desires to be revered as the ruler of the world are gone. All that is left within Paris is his desire for this unknown woman that will supposedly fulfil his every desire, an immortal wife that millions of men once wished to court, a woman married to a King in an entirely different continent. Paris is consumed by Aphrodite's words and nothing will loosen her hold on him.

I did not think it possible, but I hate Aphrodite even more. The feeling that I have for her cannot be described as hate. I loath the very air she breaths, I want her eviscerated, I want her completely gone from this world and if I ever hear so much as her name again it will be much too soon.

Wetting his lips Paris looks directly towards Hermes who eagerly awaits Paris's judgement.

"Aphrodite. The Goddess of Love and Beauty, Aphrodite is the fairest of all." Paris says and with those words I know for sure that pandemonium will soon run wild throughout the mortal world.

My heart plummets and too quickly for my liking Aphrodite's eyes fill with pride. It takes all of my will power not to slide down the tree and carve out her pretty little eyes and wear them as earring. She is too full of herself, too sure of her own genius that she does not see the web that I have been weaving that will lead to her destruction and Paris is obviously a fool if he thinks naming Aphrodite 'The Fairest' will gain him anything but his death.

Without a second glance I leave, my wings stretching out and lifting me up into the air. The seeds of war have been sown and with the kidnapping of Helen, Paris will condemn Troy and all its inhabitants to death. Many will fall and the Gods and Goddesses will soon war against each other as their children and favoured mortals are pitted against each other. Hera and Athena will back all of Paris's foes out of anger towards his choice.

Father will turn against son while mothers will murder their babes as madness takes them from lack of food. Blood will flow more freely than water and the world will burn for years to come. This war will be long and I will be within the thick of it throughout it all. I will be there when a boy spills the blood of his first kill, I will be there as the temples are overrun with soldiers and the priestesses raped and tortured. I will be there for all the Chaos and Discord and I will revel in it.

Chaos and Discord will flow freely for many years, yet through it all I will watch him with bated breath and a stuttering heart.

* * *

Finally I pull back from Paris, looking into his eyes, which are filled with an emotion that I cannot fathom let alone understand. Frowning I lean in closer as if trying to decipher what it is that he is feeling towards me. It is not hatred for my actions, nor is it utter loathing towards me and what I stand for.

I very nearly fall back with shock as he reaches up his hand to my cheek, circling his fingers gently against my skin leaving behind bloody ash marks. Tears fall freely from his eyes and I cannot understand why he is looking so tenderly and comfortingly towards me. As if he has realised something that not even I can understand.

"I am sorry that this is what you are Eris, I am sorry for what you must do and how you must feel. I want you to know, I forgive you for what you must do." He croaks out barely above a whisper.

The words are foreign to my ears and I do not understand them completely. He is sorry for me. He pities me, my existence. It is a rare and beautiful moment that I am sure will be burned into my memory for eternity. A beautiful man, so very near to death, forgives me.

For a moment my face softens and my mouth becomes slightly agape and all thoughts of creating discord and chaos disappear from my mind. Instead a feeling I have never before felt flutters within my breast, threatening to take over my very being. The feeling only lasts for a mere moment before I squash it down, destroying it, crushing it into oblivion.

With the loss of the fleeting emotion gone, annoyance seems to flow through my veins like lava and I pull myself away from Paris quickly. Not wanting to waste my time with a mere mortal that has fulfilled its usefulness any longer.

"I do not have any need nor want for your pity mortal." I hiss at him, practically spitting with unbridled infuriation.

A part of me wants to take the man in my arms, to take him with me away from the anarchy that I have orchestrated. To prevent myself I stand abruptly I turning away from him without a second glance, knowing that the Kerese or Thanatos will soon be there to take his soul down to Hades.

Mortals have always amused me, have always been my playthings, but Paris is, was, something different. He had within him a kindness towards others that I doubt I will ever see again. A kindness I do not want to see again if it can create such emotions within me.

Without looking back I leave, wearing the bruises that decorate my throat from his hands proudly, desperately hoping that perhaps, unlike him, they will never disappear.

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